15. Charlie
Ipull my car to the curb in front of the building that is about to become my whole life.
I’m here. I’m doing this. I’m a resident, and about to be business owner, in Rolling Hills.
Holy shit. What the fuck am I doing?
I let out a yawn and just sit for a second before mustering up the energy to start taking some of my things upstairs to the apartment. There’s still plenty of sunlight, despite it being after six o’clock at night. The warm rays are going to put me to sleep if I sit here any longer.
Which would be nice. This week has been a lot.
On top of starting to get things ready for the new restaurant, I officially put in my notice at Napoli’s. Mellie squealed in excitement, then also put in her notice. Mr. Napoli begged me to stay and even offered me a raise. Billy thought he could charm me into staying by offering “private cooking classes” where he’d be on the menu. But, I told everyone thank you for years of employment and that opening my own restaurant had always been a dream of mine.
Inside I was telling everyone where to go and how to get there.
Because I’m leaving soon, Mr. Napoli didn’t think it was wise of me to meet with prospective clients, so my workload is pretty light. The only event I have is Oliver and Izzy’s reception, which takes place in one week, then my time at Napoli’s is officially done. And while I wish I could use the time to rest and recharge, there frankly isn’t enough time. I need every spare second to pack, move, and get the diner ready. Which is why I’m here after work, moving clothes, instead of taking a nap.
I love naps so much.
“Come on, Charlie,” I say to myself as I give my head a shake to wake me up. “The totes aren’t going to move themselves upstairs.”
With a heave, I push the door open to my 2012 Honda Civic and pop the trunk. My tiny car is filled to the brim with bags, totes, and anything else I could stuff in for the drive down tonight. Even with one week left at Napoli’s, I’ll actually be here more than there, so I figured it was time to bite the bullet and officially make my move to Rolling Hills.
Which…shit…I promised Connor I’d text him when I got here.
Connor: Did you make it?
Oops…
Charlie: Sorry. Just pulled up. Shut my eyes for a bit. Long day.
Connor: You sure you’re okay? You’ve been running yourself ragged. I can still come down and help you move.
Charlie: I’m fine. It will only take me a few trips to carry everything up.
Connor: I hate I didn’t come to help.
Charlie: There was no reason. It’s just totes. No big furniture. And you would have had to find a sitter for Lila.
Connor: Stubborn as always, I see.
Charlie: You’re gonna miss me and you know it.
Connor: We already do.
My brother follows that last message up with a picture of him and Lila blowing me a kiss. Damn him…now I’m about to cry.
Correction. I am crying.
Last night was more emotional than I thought it was going to be. Every time I looked at Lila and Connor, I broke into a crying fit. I was so emotional I even cried when Nuggy licked my face. I knew it was going to be hard to leave them, but I didn’t expect that. I haven’t cried like that in years. Probably since the day of Mom’s funeral.
“You got this,” I say to myself. “One step at a time.”
With one more deep breath, I get out of my car and look at the building that’s about to become my world. A sense of calm runs through me as I take everything in.
This is right. It’s what I’m supposed to be doing.
But just as quick as the calm comes, it’s replaced by an uneasiness I feel from head to toe.
“Bug! You’re here!”
Oh, now it makes sense.
“Hello, Simon,” I say without making eye contact. I see him approaching, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him.
“Are you just getting into town? Where are you living, by the way? Are we neighbors? That would be fun. Also, do you plan on ghosting me again? It’s happened twice now, so I’d just like to be prepared if you think it’s going to become a regular thing.”
Breathe. This is what he does. Don’t let him get under your skin on day one.
I turn and square my shoulders. I need to remember that my goal here is to make him watch my success. That’s not going to happen if I cower to him out of the gate.
“To answer your questions in order: Yes. None of your business. God, I hope not. And no, I’m not. But that’s more because I don’t plan on ever, and I mean ever, touching you again.”
Boom. Yes. That felt good. Strong. Not the wimpy girl crushing on the hot guy. Or the drunk girl who was…well, just drunk.
Except that feeling of confidence starts to dim as Simon’s cocky smile forms on his stupidly handsome face.
“You know I’m going to find out where you live, right?”
“I don’t care.” I say as confidently as I can. “It’s a small town. It’ll happen when it does.”
Simon looks into my open trunk, then toward the restaurant, then back to me. “Are you living in the kitchen? I don’t think it would be very comfortable, though you could probably get a cot to fit in there. Do you have a cot? Do you want me to call my cot guy?”
I raise an eyebrow. “You have a cot guy?”
“You don’t?”
I just shake my head and turn to start grabbing totes out of the trunk when I feel Simon slide up next to me.
“What are you doing?”
“Helping.”
“Who asked you to help?”
“I thought I’d be a gentle—I thought I’d be a nice guy.”
I slam the car door shut, nearly taking off Simon’s hands as he hurries and lifts a tote. “Please leave me alone. Stop whatever this is that you’re doing. You think this is cute. It’s not.”
“Sorry, Bug, can’t do that. You live in my town. We’re going to see each other. Like I said, I’m your Norm, so you should get used to this.”
“Why do you insist on making my life miserable?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t wanna make your life miserable. I want us to be friends. Best friends, maybe with benefits. You have to admit, the benefits were pretty good…”
“What’s your point, Simon?”
“Sorry. Answers.”
“Answers?”
“Yes. Answers. You have the answers I want, and until I get them, you’re going to have to put up with me every day.”
I drop the tote I’m holding and throw my hands on my hips. This man is unbelievable.
“The fact that you don’t know the answer is laughable.”
“I surely don’t know what you mean.”
“You want answers? Well, guess what, buddy, so do I. Because you think I started this, but it was you.”
Wow. That stopped him in his tracks.
“Me?”
“Yes, you. So until you fess up to what you did, then I have nothing to say.”
I grab the tote and start marching toward the entrance to the diner. I hear him yell something, but I don’t pay attention.
I know he has to have the last word, which is fine. Let him have this one. Because I know at the end of the day, I’m going to get the one that counts.
Groceries. I need groceries.
Yes, I realized that last night after my sixth trip to the car, but I was too tired to do anything about it. I didn’t even eat dinner. Nothing sounded good, and frankly, I was too tired to even think about leaving. For one, I would have had to move. And second, I would risk running into Simon again. One dose of him for the day was more than enough. That and the bed that was provided in the fully furnished apartment was the most comfortable thing I’ve ever laid on. You couldn’t have paid me to leave that thing.
But today is a new day. I feel a bit more refreshed, have the whole day off, and I plan on making this day my bitch, starting with groceries.
I love that Rolling Hills doesn’t have a mega supercenter in town. No, the only grocery store in town is family-owned, and according to the signage has been in town and owned by the same family since 1945. I absolutely love it. The aisles are small and the selection is limited, but there is a meat department with a butcher on staff and a bakery taking custom cake orders. While I’d love to go sample the sweets, those aren’t on the shopping list today. No, I need fruits, vegetables, and anything else that will power me through these next few weeks.
What I don’t need is Simon Banks, staring at me while holding a peach in his hands.
Oh for fuck’s sake…
“Well isn’t this a coincidence,” Simon says, tossing the peach up slightly and catching it. “Are we synced up on our grocery days? We should be shopping buddies. We could go get coffee, do some shopping, maybe some lunch where you can answer the question of why you never returned a phone call and blocked me. Or! You can tell me which position was your favorite. Mine was when you?—”
I hold a finger to his mouth, shutting him up. Except the act makes him smile, which was not my intention.
“Are you stalking me?”
His smile turns to a face of fake shock as I lower my finger. “Bug! I would never.”
“Yes you would, and you know it.”
“I’m just a man doing my grocery shopping.” He takes the peach and takes a huge bite out of it, our eyes locking. “And I had a hankering for peaches. I just, I don’t know, wanted something I could really sink my teeth and fingers into, you know?”
I hate, hate, hate, hate, that my pussy clenches when he says that. I can feel his fingers digging into my hips and ass. The nibbles he bit into my thighs.
Fuck, this is so bad.
“You’re the worst,” I say, doing my best to regain my composure. Though guessing by the smirk on his face, he knows he’s won this round.
“Actually, I think I’m the best. At many, many things.”
“Yes. Best at being an asshole.”
“Aw, is that your nickname for me? Bug and Asshole. I think it has a ring to it.”
“You’re insufferable,” I say as I start grabbing every piece of produce I can find and throwing them haphazardly into my buggy.
“You love me,” he says, handing me a plastic bag.
I snatch it from him. “Just leave me alone.”
“I could do that. All you have to do is tell me what I want to know.”
I stuff three tomatoes into the bag and swing them around, nearly hitting him. “And I told you, you have to confess what you did before you get an answer.”
“And I told you I don’t know what the fuck I did.”
I realize at this point that people are staring. Great. Way to make a good first impression on the new town. He pulls me to the corner, a little out of the way, which I appreciate. What I don’t appreciate is my body growing hot just by his simple touch.
“Whether you believe me or not, I don’t know what you think I did.”
I shake my head. “Denial doesn’t look good on you, Simon.”
He pulls at his hair, and I’m pretty sure if we weren’t in public, he’d be letting out a scream of frustration. “Charlie. I don’t know what you want me to say. Because if I did, I’d say it.”
“Admit what you did.”
I must give him credit; he’s earning an Academy Award for this performance of “Confused Asshole in a Comedy.”
“I can’t admit something I didn’t do. Or even know what it is.”
I take a step closer, somehow feeling empowered by his lies and denial. “You know what you did. So when you’re ready to take your share of the blame, then you come and see me. Until then, don’t speak to me.”
I march back to my buggy, leaving Simon staring and seething.
Whew. Things got a bit dicey there for a second, but I think we can confidently call this round another win for me.
I did not want to get out of bed today.
My stomach hates me. I’m tired from pulling double duty at the restaurant and Napoli’s. Mellie’s helping at the diner, but she’s also still working so she’s doing what she can. I just want to curl up on the couch with some Funyuns and the cult documentary I still haven’t had time to watch. But no…I have to be a responsible adult and shit.
It’s the worst.
But since it’s a beautiful day, and I’m hopeful some sunshine will serve as the medicine to wake me up, I choose to do the task I’ve been putting off all week—washing the windows and touching up the exterior.
There are people walking along the streets who stop to tell me hello and to introduce themselves. While I hate meeting everyone wearing raggedy denim shorts, a tank top, and my hair in a bandanna like I’m Rosie the Riveter, it’s nice to feel like I’m officially being welcomed into Rolling Hills. I’m also glad that no one seems to be bringing up my altercation with Simon at the grocery store the other day. Then again, another blow-up could happen at any moment if he keeps running past my diner like he has been for the last twenty minutes.
And not just running. Running shirtless.
Asshole.
And even worse than him running shirtless, sweating and tanned, is that he’s doing exactly what I asked him to do. He’s not talking. Not acknowledging me. Not even waving hello.
What an asshole.
I catch him out of the corner of my eye, which to my count would be his sixth time past in I don’t know how many minutes. Is he doing laps around my building on purpose? He must be. Not that I mean to be counting. It’s just hard not to notice when a ripped, tanned, sweating man, who has given you the best orgasms of your life, runs past you.
Don’t think about orgasms.
Or how those abs felt when you trailed your fingers down them.
Or how his arms felt holding you. Or when you grabbed onto them when you were about to fall apart.
Ironically, the sight of him coming past for lap seven is what breaks me from my trip down orgasm memory lane.
“Enough!” I yell, throwing the sponge into the bucket, which of course means it splashes water and soap all over me. “What are you doing?”
He stops in front of me, his breathing heavy as he hits a few buttons on his smartwatch. I wait for him to say something, anything, but he doesn’t. He just stands there, breathing. Sweating. Looking annoyingly hot.
“Simon! What the hell are you doing?”
He leans in to me so he can whisper. “Am I allowed to talk? I didn’t know if I had permission.”
I take a step back and throw my hands in the air. “Oh my God. Yes. Just speak.”
“Phew. I didn’t know what the rules were anymore. In fact, I don’t know a lot of things right now.”
I ignore his comment. “What are you doing?”
He looks down at himself then back to me. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m getting in my cardiovascular workout.”
“Are you ever not a smart ass?”
“I think you know the answer to that question, Bug.”
I bend over to grab my sponge, which I am now just realizing gives him a clear view down my shirt. Part of me wants to hit myself for doing that, but the other part of me, the one who is now noticing him swallowing a huge lump in his throat, is glad she put on the free show.
Good. Glad I’m not the only one suffering right now.
I start to turn back to continue my window washing when Simon starts walking toward me, paralyzing me in place.
His eyes are heated. Burning. They remind me of the night—from what I remember—in the hotel. I remember my body being on fire from just his gaze.
It’s my turn to swallow the lump in my throat. “What are you doing?”
He uses a finger to gently brush away some of the soap bubbles that are on my face.
“You just had a little something on you.”
It takes everything in my power to not lean into his touch. Because it would be too easy to do it. To ask for a repeat of that night. He’s already half naked. Hell, I’m not far behind him. It would be so easy…
Then the sound of a loud and irritating alarm goes off, breaking me from my trance.
“Oops! Time for another lap!” Simon says, moving back from me, completely unfazed. “See you in a few minutes, Bug!”
And just like that, he’s off and running, leaving me more hot and bothered than I’d like to admit.
So I do what every other rational woman would do in this situation—I throw my sponge at him.